Sunday, 16 February 2014

On Raising a Male Feminist by Naomi Elana Zener

 My darling son, in life respect women you must.
Failure to do so means sex life will be a bust.
Heed my guidance in earnest sex shall be dandy,
Satisfaction you’ll find whenever you’re randy.
If you spot a girl, smile, flirt, next to her pull up a seat,
Buy her a drink, but don’t treat her like a piece of meat.
Rather, should you meet a woman via a dating site online,
Lie about looks, height and money, you’ll be labeled swine.
Before getting down to business, first buy her dinner.
But if it’s Kentucky Fried Chicken, you won’t be a winner.
Cheap out on a meal, expect her not to put out,
In bed your name you’ll never hear her shout.
She’s a fine complex wine to enjoy, not a cheap beer,
Put her up on a pedestal to love and revere.
Do not have sex in an airplane, train or car,
Do not have sex in a washroom, resto or bar.
All are cramped, unhygienic with bad lighting,
Coitus rushed in tight spaces will lead to fighting.
A bed, high thread count sheets sets the right mood,
Eat chocolate covered strawberries, aphrodisiac food.
Soft candlelight, mojo music both great window dressing,
Forget condoms, bastard children will never be a blessing.
Foreplay is not overrated contrary to your dad’s advice,
Third base is still relevant, and don’t wear Old Spice.
Remember, reciprocate, to her return the favour,
Doing so equals high praise as her orgasm saviour.
Take your time, don’t rush, no prize for coming in first,
Sex is not a race, too quick a lover and you’ll be her worst.
Each time won’t be perfect, practice makes perfect you’ll see,
Toys may add to her pleasure and help out mechanically.
Once you’re done with your fun roll in the hay,
Stay put for post-coital cuddles, don’t run away!
Even if it’s a booty call, which I’ll ignore and condone,
In bed you must stay to spoon, don’t leave her alone.
For the day will come when you think you’ve met ‘the one,’
Just to discover you’re her Mr. Right Now, there only for fun.
A role held often by women, you won’t like wearing her shoes,
Left feeling cheap and tawdry, for sex you will have been used.
To avoid heartbreak, don’t use women for sex, it’s not a game,
Womanizers get herpes, having themselves only to blame.
Follow my tips and your woman will be sexually satisfied,
Giving her great orgasms, you’ll swear in bed she cried.
Should one day the right woman marry you, she will be in luck,
Unlike your dad, keep up hot sex daily or your marriage will suck.

© 2014. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Monday, 3 February 2014

Paging Dr. Douchebag by Naomi Elana Zener

I practically snorted Chardonnay out of my nose. Even in setting me up with the holy grail of men, a plastic surgeon, E-harmony® had lied yet again. I couldn’t believe that a man actually admitted to me in the first ten minutes of a blind date that he was a game-playing douchebag.

“So you’re openly admitting that you’re a womanizer?” I asked.

“You misheard me. Maybe I should refer to you an ENT colleague of mine to check out your ears, “ Tom replied. “I said I’m a woman-prizer, not a womanizer.”

“And the distinction is?” I asked nonplussed.

“It means that I prize women,” Tom explained.

“How exactly does one ‘prize’ a woman?” I pressed already waist-deep in to the muck.

“I prize their eyes, their breasts, their mouths, their legs - you get the picture. And, like any good prize you win at the fair, you want to win them all. Well, only if the prizes are hot.”

“Do you stick them on a shelf?” I asked rhetorically, searching the restaurant for the waiter signaling him to bring me a bottle of wine to help put me out of my misery. “Are they sitting next to your grade six science fair participation ribbon and little league baseball trophies?”

“Don’t be stupid. You know we’re talking about women, not actual prizes,” Tom stated. “I pleasure them in bed. I can go all night long.  I can even please two or three at a time.”

“Yet you somehow don’t see yourself as a womanizer,” I offered.

“Women aren’t just notches on my bedpost. They’re my greatest set of memorabilia,” Tom stated. “If you become one of Tom’s girls you’ll see how much you love being a prize. My girls don’t pay for anything, are free to have a career and all you have to do is make me look good in return.”

“Obviously, be good in bed too?” I asked rhetorically.

“That goes without saying,” Tom advised.

“How does one go about making you look good?” I asked looking depressively into my empty sobering glass, still waiting on a waiter to come over to the table so I could order a bottle of wine with a straw. Having hit rock bottom of the dating cesspool with Dr. Douchebag, I started muttering to myself about the things I put myself through in the vain attempt to find a man.

“Did you say something?” Tom asked.

“No, well, I just wondered out loud how much wine I have to drink before I find love,” I recovered.

“Yeah, I noticed you drink a lot,” Tom offered. “That’s ok by me. Sometimes Tom’s girls need a little lube to help them swallow.”

At that kernel of truth, I vomited a little bit in my mouth.

“A single gal swimming in a sea of amoeba has to do what she can in order to survive until she finds cleaner waters,” I retorted.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Tom advised. “I’m psychologic.”

“Excuse me, but I think you meant to say psychic,” I offered.

“That’s what I said,” Tom countered.

“No, no, you said ‘psychologic,’ not psychic. The latter means you can read people’s minds. The former is not a real word. I guess on the day when they handed out brains at beauty surgeon school, you were home playing with your prizes,” I stated.

“Same difference. Bottom line is that I’m psycho-syncing with you and know what you are going to say before you say it,” Tom boasted.

Immediately and without warning, I bolted to my feet, yanking my purse off the table and tablecloth with it. I charged out of the bar glancing back, as I made my furious retreat to a taxi, taking note of EHarmony’s latest and greatest match’s look of shock. Clearly, Mr. Psychologic Holmes did not see that move coming.

© 2014. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.